


Fortune's Foe

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-01
Updated: 2006-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8090062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: It was the smile that did it, the look in Trip’s eye as he stared up at Malcolm that made Malcolm realise he didn’t know this man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Notes: For Indehedâ€™s challenge, and also my own Halloween challenge. Indehed had asked for: Tucker/Reed with a possessive Tucker, can be alien influence or natural, bit of kink, Malcolm gives someone a resound beating in the gym. My own Halloween challenge asked for writers to use any Halloween-related theme in a story.  
  
This piece is all very â€œRomeo and Juliet,â€ but in a â€œBuffy the Vampire Slayerâ€ way.  
  
My first fight scenes. Critique is appreciated.  
  
Warnings: A bit of mild almost-non-con. Slash. Violence. Swearing.  


* * *

Malcolm let the door to his quarters close behind him and, as it cut off the light from the corridor, he leaned against it, too spent to proceed. It had been one hell of a day.

He ran a weary hand across his face and pushed away from the door. Not bothering to turn on a light, undress, or even take off his boots, he sank down onto his bed and lay there on his back, staring into the darkness and trying hard not to think. 

He and Trip hadnâ€™t seen much of each other since Trip had returned from the mission to Bechovia. Theyâ€™d both been so busy with work, and Malcolm had thoughtâ€¦ He sighed and pushed his left boot off with his right foot. It fell off the bed with a loud thunk, which was quickly followed by a second. Heâ€™d *thought* everything was fine, that Trip just needed time to catch up with work, and that everything would return to normal once they finally were able to have some time alone. Malcolm grabbed the edge of his duvet. Rolling onto his side, he wrapped himself in it, anchoring himself there. He hadnâ€™t realised that heâ€™d have to practically corral the man in order to get that time; or that, once they finally did speak, it would be for only a few moments. Moments that Trip would spend shifting from one foot to the other and refusing to meet his eye. It was only with prodding on his part that Trip had finally said anything at all. 

Malcolm tossed away the blanket and sat on the bed, shifting so that his back rested against the bulkhead. The emotions from that moment were still roiling within him: a mix of sadness, and regret, and anger. Theyâ€™d been dating for two years. Two bloody years! 

â€œMore space,â€ Trip had said when Malcolm had finally cornered him in his quarters. Heâ€™d said that heâ€™d needed â€œa breakâ€, just â€œa little time to think things through.â€ 

Malcolm let his head fall back and gently hit the wall behind him once, twice, three times. â€œA breakâ€, indeed. 

He shook his head. What Trip had said back there was bollocks. Even if Trip genuinely thought â€œmore spaceâ€ was the answer, Malcolm for a fact knew that it was not. In his experience, when someone in a relationship mentioned that they needed â€œmore space,â€ that usually signalled the beginning of the end. He pulled his legs up in front of him and, wrapping his arms around them, gazed into the darkness as if it would somehow hold the answer.

Trip, intentionally or not, was now leading him along. The relationship was ending. It was only a matter of time. 

He could not â€“ would not let this happen to him. He should act the man, rather than the boy, and take control of the situation. No matter the personal pain and his own hopes, he should end it now. It would only save him hurt in the long run. 

The first tear surprised him, burning into his skin as it trickled down his cheek. He wiped it away angrily, only to have it followed by more. Damn it, he couldnâ€™t â€“ He *would not* do this; lose himself to grief and, andâ€¦ 

He heard himself gasp and he shook his head violently, trying to drive away the pain. He started mumbling a series of swear words, an old trick he used to use to gain control. Whispering this twisted mantra, he focused on the sound of the words, hoping that their meaning, their violence and anger, would drive the hurt to the back of his mind. He remembered a film an old girlfriend had shown him once, the entire first ten minutes nothing but â€œBugger, bugger, bugger,â€ culminating in one â€œFuck.â€ Something aboutâ€¦, yes, â€œFour Weddings and a Funeral,â€ that was the title, right. 

He took a slow and careful breath in, and consciously tried to relax his shoulders as he breathed out. In, and out. And once again. 

He felt dread chill his stomach as he slid to the edge of the bed. Feet planted firmly on the floor, he checked his chronometer. Twenty-one-hundred-hours. Trip would probably be in the gym. 

Reaching out with one hand, Malcolm triggered the lights. 

x-x

Malcolm was about to leave the dark, empty gym when he heard a rustling. He paused, listening for movement. There it was again. 

Instantly alert, he called into the darkness, â€œWhoâ€™s there?â€ When there was no answer, he raised the lights. 

He took a full step back in shock at what he saw. Trip and Hoshi were â€“ they were â€“ How long had this been â€“

He almost turned away in horror and sadness when Hoshi caught his eye. With a chill in his gut, he suddenly saw the scene in a different light. Trip pressing Hoshi to the floor, pinning her there with his body. A hand clamped across her mouth. The other twisted in her uniform top. 

Malcolm felt himself go cold and his anger took over. Before he even realised what he was doing, he was all over the man. He yanked Trip away by the shoulders. He jerked him to standing. He saw that Trip was about to take a swing at him, so he hit first. 

Then Trip was fighting back, eyes blazing. Trip punched. Malcolm blocked it and staggered back. Malcolm swung a fist at him, allowing his fury to fuel his blows as he responded. 

He heard Hoshi scramble up from her position on the floor and run to the comm. 

He knocked Trip down, the man slamming against the wall before he fell. 

Trip looked up from the floor, his face twisted in rage. He wiped the back of his hand against his lip and it came away bloody. He glanced down at it, quirked an eyebrow up at Malcolm, and smiled. 

He *smiled*. 

Malcolmâ€™s breath stopped. That was not like Trip. None of this was. Not his coldness in their earlier conversation, not his actions in attacking Hoshi, not his violence here in the gym. 

But it was the smile that did it, the look in his eye as he stared up at Malcolm that made Malcolm realise he didnâ€™t know this man. 

Malcolm kept his eyes locked on Trip as he heard the door to the room open. One of his security staff â€“ McKay, from the sound of his voice â€“ called out a puzzled, â€œSir?â€ Only then did Malcolm look away. 

â€œTake him to the brig,â€ Malcolm said, his voice flat and cold. 

â€œSir?â€ McKay said again, his angular face expressing his confusion. 

â€œDo it,â€ Malcolm snapped. â€œAnd post a guard outside.â€

â€œYes, sir.â€ 

McKay pulled Trip up from the floor. Trip shrugged out of his grip but allowed McKay to nudge him forward, toward the door. 

Malcolm held himself still until Trip and McKay had left. As the door shut firmly behind them, he slumped onto the weight bench, head in hands. Now that the immediate crisis was over, he let the shock and confusion hit. He felt torn between trying not to think about what he had just seen, and trying to figure out what in the bloody hell had just happened. Trip attacking Hoshi. Then attacking him. The look in Tripâ€™s eye, the smile. None of it made sense. 

He felt someone drape something across his shoulders. He heard them walk away, trigger the comm., and hold a soft conversation. Probably Hoshi calling Phlox, calling Archer. 

He recognised that he must have drifted there for a moment, lost in thought or shock, because next he heard a voice, very soft, from in front of him. 

â€œAre you all right?â€

He lifted his head and saw Hoshi there, squatting in his line of sight. She had a red mark on one cheek, destined to turn to a nasty bruise. Her hair and uniform were dishevelled, but her eyes were resolute.

Taking in her appearance, it came to him that he should actually have been the one asking her that question, but he felt at a loss. â€œWhat just happened?â€ 

â€œI have no idea,â€ Hoshi replied, sitting on the floor in front of him. â€œI came inâ€¦ I was too wound to sleep, and Iâ€™d figured I could work off some of the stress, get myself comatose. Then the lights went off, and someone was all over me.â€

Malcolm ran a shaky hand across his face, and pushed the hair back from his sweaty forehead. His hand came away bloody, so he rubbed it on his trousers. â€œWe should get you to sickbay.â€ When he tried to stand, his legs went out from under him. 

Hoshi caught him with a hand to his elbow. â€œTheyâ€™re already expecting us.â€

He nodded and leaned into her arm as they walked through the door. 

x-x

Malcolm stood outside the brig and turned on the recorders. Heâ€™d made sure his most trusted security people would be watching the monitors, and heâ€™d also posted one person just outside the room. 

He knew he shouldnâ€™t be the one questioning Trip. There was too much history there, they were too close, but at the same time he had to. It had to be him. There was no way, if there was something wrong with Trip, he wouldnâ€™t know. 

A brief, sad smile flickered across his features. The things that made him the worst possible person to question Trip also made him the best. 

As he entered the small room, Trip looked up from his seat on one of the benches. He gave an icy smile. 

Malcolm avoided his eyes, instead taking the opportunity to evaluate the situation. Heâ€™d asked Phlox to examine Trip, and it looked like the doctor had done, because Tripâ€™s cheek was covered in a small bandage, the cut on his lip recently sutured. Heâ€™d also asked for Phlox to run some tests and check for anything odd, anything that could explain why Trip was acting so unlike himself. Those results were still pending. 

Trip was sitting on the right-hand bench, although he was free to move about. His earlier uniform had been taken from him, and he was now dressed in theatre whites â€“ Phloxâ€™s standard solution for anyone whose clothing needed to be removed. 

Malcolm remained just inside the door, standing at parade rest. He finally let his eyes meet those of the prisoner. â€œWhat happened back there, Commander?â€ he asked, careful to keep his tone even and his expression impartial. 

â€œIâ€™m sorry you had to see that,â€ Trip replied. â€œHoshi and I were justâ€¦â€ He sighed and looked away for a moment, then back to Malcolm. â€œI didnâ€™t mean for you to find out about us in that way.â€ His expression was one of sorrow and contrition, but there was something about his eyesâ€¦ Malcolm wasnâ€™t quite sure what. There was somethingâ€¦wrong there, but he couldnâ€™t put his finger on what was bothering him. 

â€œHad Hoshi and you beenâ€¦together in the past?â€ 

â€œWhile you and I were dating?â€ Trip asked, leaning forward on the bench. â€œAh, no, Malcolm. Iâ€™d never haveâ€¦ Please donâ€™t thinkâ€¦â€

Malcolm broke his stance and let himself sit on the bench beside Trip, their knees nearly brushing in the small space. â€œThen why?â€ he asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. â€œYou said you needed more space, but I didnâ€™t expect â€“ He cut himself off when he saw a flash of amusement cross Tripâ€™s features. Although the man quickly schooled them, once again appearing remorseful, Malcolm tensed. This was not the Trip he knew. Goosebumps rising, he decided to play to his vague suspicions and risk a question. â€œWho are you?â€

At that, Trip burst out laughing. â€œI figured youâ€™d be the one to realise, but God, took you long enough.â€ 

Malcolm felt the shock like a blow to the gut, and it took him a moment to recover. 

Trip spoke into the silence. â€œWhat was it that gave me away? Was it the fact that Iâ€™d attacked Hoshi, or broke up with you, or just the look in my eye?â€ He slid over slightly, closing the space between them, and Malcolm couldnâ€™t help but recoil. 

God, precisely how long had this been going on? Heâ€™d had been so busy, and Trip had been working, andâ€¦

â€œWhere is Trip?â€ he finally bit out, heart racing. 

Trip slouched insolently against the wall. â€œHeâ€™s in here, more or less.â€ The man smiled. â€œFor now, at least.â€

Malcolm felt a chill come over him. â€œLet him go,â€ he said, his voice low and nasty. 

â€œNah,â€ Trip replied. He leaned forward suddenly, grinning when he saw Malcolm flinch. â€œIâ€™m quite enjoying this, being corporeal. Itâ€™s been a while, and it took a long time for me to find a way.â€ He ran a hand along his own chest, then down his leg. â€œIt was certainly worth it.â€

â€œWho are you?â€ Malcolm repeated, surprised that his voice didnâ€™t betray his feelings. 

Trip cocked his head. â€œI have all of Tripâ€™s memories, you know. What he knew, I know. What he felt, I feel. And what he felt about you was â€“ 

Malcolm didnâ€™t have time to react before Trip was on him, pinning him to the bench, face mere inches from his own. Malcolm felt the other man grind into him, hips moving. Hot breath hit his cheek as Trip whispered, â€œGod, Malcolm,â€ into his ear, passion apparent in his tone, in the hardness Malcolm felt against his leg. 

Malcolm tried to shout. Trip trapped him with a kiss. A tongue worked its way between his lips as Tripâ€™s thigh forced itself between his legs.

Malcolm felt his own body respond despite his desperate wish that it not. Melting into the kiss, he touched his tongue to Tripâ€™s just as security opened the door and pulled the other man away. 

x-x

Malcolm scrubbed his face with his flannel, turning his head so the water from the shower could wash away both the soap and the misery of his day. This was his second time washing, and he still felt dirty.

He was disgusted with himself. The way heâ€™d reacted when Trip hadâ€¦ He sighed and half-heartedly tossed the cloth onto its hook. 

Not Trip. That hadnâ€™t been Trip at all, and he had to remember that. 

After that scene in the brig with â€œthe beingâ€, Captain Archer had got in touch with his contacts on Bechovia. As it has been the last planet Trip had been prior to his change in behaviour, it was a logical place to start. But Archerâ€™s contacts seemed never to have heard such a story. 

Malcolm heard his comm. go and he stepped from the shower, the water turning off automatically as he left. Wrapping himself in a towel, he walked a dripping path to the unit near his door. â€œReed here,â€ he said, shivering as the cool air hit his damp skin. 

â€œLieutenant?â€ came Hoshiâ€™s voice across the channel. â€œSomeone from Bechovia is asking to speak with you. Says itâ€™s private,â€ she added, dropping her voice. 

Malcolm frowned and, quickly towelling his hair, ran hasty fingers through it. â€œSend it through to my computer.â€ Wrapping the towel around his waist, he grabbed for the shirt heâ€™d thrown on the bed and was half into it when his computer came to life, revealing a dark-skinned Bechovian male. 

â€œLieutenant Reed?â€ the man asked. The translation device gave his voice a strange, although not unpleasant, lilt. â€œDid I catch you at a bad time?â€ he asked, opening his eyes wide in what Malcolm assumed was an expression of either apology or surprise. 

â€œNo,â€ Malcolm replied, finally into his shirt. â€œHow can I help you?â€ He sat in the chair in front of the computer. 

â€œI am Carevial Darlolian. I met Commander Tucker while he was here on Bechrovia.â€ Carevialâ€™s face twisted, the two horns on his forehead just touching. Malcolm wasnâ€™t certain, but he thought the man was frowning. â€œI was sorry to hear of the events that occurred since his visit with us,â€ Carevial said, his voice solemn. 

â€œThank you,â€ Malcolm said, not at all sure of where this was going. 

Perhaps sensing his confusion, Carevial explained. â€œI felt you needed to know something.â€ He lifted both hands, fingers curled in, palms together. â€œIt may amount to nothing, butâ€¦the man your captain spoke with lied.â€

At this, Malcolm leaned forward in his chair.

Carevial waved his hands in front of him, as if dismissing what heâ€™d just said. â€œWell, not so much lied. We have stories here of beings which can do this. But these are stories to frighten children, not real.â€ The man made that almost-frown again. â€œStillâ€¦â€

â€œYes?â€

â€œWhen I heard of what happened to your friend, I felt I should call. I felt you should know.â€ 

With the way Carevial emphasised the word â€œfriendâ€, Malcolm realised that the man probably knew about his and Tripâ€™s relationship. 

â€œWhy not contact the captain?â€

Carevial interrupted. â€œNo, no. That would not be appropriate. A situation such as this is best discussed with family.â€

â€œFamily.â€ That word struck Malcolm hard, and he found that he needed a moment to recover. â€œIs there a way to get it to leave?â€ he finally asked, his voice pitched barely above a whisper. 

â€œI know only stories, rumoursâ€¦â€

â€œPlease,â€ Malcolm said, surprising himself with the pleading in his voice. 

x-x

Malcolm stood awkwardly in front of Captain Archer, having practically run to the manâ€™s quarters after his conversation with Carevial. Heâ€™d barely stopped to put on trousers. Heâ€™d completely forgotten socks or shoes. Now he felt a complete and total git standing there half-dressed, hair on end, and obviously wholly out-of-sorts. 

With the captain staring at him, expression a clear mix of concern and confusion, Malcolm opened his mouth to explain what heâ€™d learnt. He was interrupted by the comm. 

â€œSecurity to the shuttlebay,â€ a voice announced over the ship-wide system, just as the captainâ€™s personal comm. went. 

â€œCaptain? Is Lieutenant Reed there?â€ Hoshi asked, seeming a bit breathless. 

Archer stepped to the unit and triggered it. â€œYes, Hoshi. Whatâ€™s going on?â€

Malcolm heard Hoshi take a breath before she replied. â€œTripâ€™s escaped. We think heâ€™s headed for a shuttle.â€

Archer looked at him in alarm. Poised to respond to Hoshi, he nodded toward the door and mouthed, â€œGo.â€ 

As Malcolm sprinted from the room, he heard Archer say, â€œKeep weapons on stun â€“

x-x

Malcolm ran down the corridor toward the shuttle bay, his bare feet sounding loud in the empty space. As he rounded a corner, someone slammed into him, pushing him into the wall with enough force to daze him. Next he knew he was on the floor. 

Trip leaned over him and smiled. â€œHello, lover,â€ Trip said. He lifted a weapon and brought it down on Malcolmâ€™s temple. 

It was a while before Malcolm realised that heâ€™d been moved. They were now inside a room â€“ he thought it might be one of the labs. His head hurt. It was hard to focus. 

He realised that Trip was standing over him, the weapon pointed directly at his head. 

â€œWhereâ€™d you get that?â€ Malcolm asked. He forced himself to remain calm, despite the fact that he could clearly see that the weapon had been set to kill, rather than stun. He pushed himself up on his arms, raising his back off the floor, stifling a groan as the effort caused his head to spin. 

â€œThis?â€ Trip asked, raising the gun slightly. â€œTook it from him,â€ he added, nodding back over his shoulder. 

Malcolm looked where Trip had indicated. He saw one of the security staff, Ensign Gupta, slumped against the far wall and obviously unconscious. 

Trip squatted beside him. Reaching out with the weapon, Trip used it to caress the side of his face. â€œYou really are pretty, do you know that?â€ Trip asked, an edge entering his tone when Malcolm flinched. 

Trip moved the weapon so that its barrel brushed Malcolmâ€™s lips in a metallic caress. He had to steel himself in order not to recoil or turn away. 

â€œI should never have broken things off with you, but it had been so long since Iâ€™d had anyâ€¦â€ Trip paused and smiled coldly. â€œâ€¦fun.â€ He lowered the gun to Malcolmâ€™s chest and pushed firmly, causing him to fall back and lie flat on the floor. Leaning in close, Trip whispered in his ear, â€œWhat Iâ€™d planned to do with Hoshi was only an appetiser.â€ 

Trip lowered himself to the floor beside him and, lying on his side, used the gun to trace a trail down Malcolmâ€™s chest, across his stomach, and then lower. â€œI know you liked what we did back in the brig,â€ Trip said, smiling fondly. â€œI could tell.â€ Trip adjusted the weapon in his hand and used his newly freed fingers to touch Malcolmâ€™s thigh. â€œI could feel it,â€ Trip said, leaning in and sending ghosting kisses down the side of his neck. 

Malcolm lay frozen, fear cold in his throat. He was trying hard not to show any sort of reaction, but his breath was coming fast and harsh. 

â€œWhat I plan to do to you, you have no idea,â€ Trip murmured. He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. â€œTo you, my pretty thing. And then to others.â€ Trip dipped his head down. 

Malcolm took that chance. He shoved Trip away. Rolling, he tried to knock the gun from Tripâ€™s hand while pinning the man to the floor with his own body. 

Trip fought back with force, bucking and trying to throw him off. Tripâ€™s knee impacted with his stomach. A fist hit his temple, and he bit back a groan as his headache exploded. 

He forced a blow to Tripâ€™s nose, maybe half what he could have delivered, because no matter who was inside this body, this was still *Trip*, damn it. He followed through with another, dazing the man. 

He grabbed the weapon and jumped up. With Trip lying there between his feet, he switched the weapon to stun. Squinting at the being on the floor, he blinked and tried to clear his vision. 

Trip stared up at him. â€œMalcolm?â€ he said softly, a hint of desperation in his tone. â€œPlease. Donâ€™t.â€

Hand shaking, he fired. 

x-x

Malcolm moved quietly around the tiny cell, bare feet making soft susurrations against the hard floor. Placing the candles heâ€™d brought on one of the benches, he risked a glance at Trip. He was still unconscious. 

Sitting beside the pile of candles, Malcolm watched the rise and fall of Tripâ€™s chest. Slowly, he let his eyes drift to Tripâ€™s face. The man looked so calm, lying there on his side. It was almost as if he were sleeping. 

Shaking his head, Malcolm pulled twine from one of his pockets. Placing it on the bench, he followed with several small packets, each a different size and colour. Heâ€™d shut off the cameras. Next were the lights. Reaching up a hand, he turned them to their lowest level, and the dim light cast the room in shadow. 

He and Trip were alone in the cell. No one could hear them. No one could see them. They had to be alone in order for this to work. 

Malcolm almost smiled. Heâ€™d made one concession â€“ theyâ€™d rigged the comms. so that, if he said Phloxâ€™s name, heâ€™d be directly connected to the doctor. Just in case. 

It had taken some convincing to get Archer and Phlox to let him try this. Malcolm had ended up practically begging them. Archerâ€™s main fear was that he and Trip would be in here, alone, and unobserved. Phloxâ€™s had been that theyâ€™d had no time to test the chemicals that the Bechovian, Carevial, had sent up. 

Malcolm had to admit the whole process seemed both a bit odd and a bit risky, but after all, what were his other options? He knew of no way to get this being out of Trip, and Phloxâ€™s tests had shown nothing. At least the process Carevial had outlined allowed him to have some hope. The whole thing seemed to be just a strange, slightly spooky ritual. What harm could there be? 

He saw Trip stir on the floor. His eyes flashed open and he tugged at his arms, bound behind him. 

Stepping to him, but keeping his eyes averted, Malcolm helped Trip kneel on the floor, his bound ankles under him. Trip said something but Malcolm ignored it, instead beginning to murmur the foreign words heâ€™d learnt from Carevial. To Malcolmâ€™s ear it was simply a series of syllables that heâ€™d memorised phonetically, but heâ€™d been told their basic meaning. â€œFix together twelve tapers of equal height and light themâ€¦,â€ he said, hands moving as he gathered up the candles and wrapped them with the twine. Heâ€™d only been able to get six candles, and those heâ€™d borrowed from Tâ€™Pol. They werenâ€™t quite of equal height, either. Still, they would have to do. He twisted the tie around them, binding them together. He placed them upright on the bench. 

He dared a glance at Trip, only to find him staring up from his position on the floor, his eyes distant and angry. 

â€œI donâ€™t know if you can hear me, Trip,â€ Malcolm said, hoping against hope that his words could reach beyond the being inhabiting Tripâ€™s body, to the heart of the man he had once known so well. â€œThere may be a way,â€ he whispered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, touching the small spark to each wick and watching them catch. Once they were all in flame, he took a moment to note the way they bathed the tiny space with their odd, flickering glow. They cast their light around him and upward, touching the walls and ceiling in an uneven, flickering circle. 

â€œWhat is this, some sort of ritual?â€ Trip spat, his voice interrupting Malcolmâ€™s reverie. â€œA charm? You gonna cast a spell on me or somethinâ€™?â€ he said, a slight laugh entering his tone. â€œI think youâ€™ve been watching too much Buffy.â€ 

Unsure of just who this â€œBuffyâ€ was, Malcolm continued his work. 

â€œItâ€™s a stupid superstition,â€ Trip said after a long while, his voice gone serious. â€œThis will do nothing.â€

Standing, Malcolm tore open one of Carevialâ€™s packets. He began pouring the white powder in a circle around Trip, big enough for them both to sit in, knee-to-knee. As he walked the path, he repeated meaningless Bechovian words under his breath, feeling slightly foolish but desperate enough to try. He was unsure of which aspects of this ritual would work, if any, so he was doing it all. 

The sharp smell of the powder rose around them. Casting another glance to Trip, he caught a bit of nervousness as it flickered across his face, only to disappear into bravado once Trip realised that Malcolm was watching him. 

â€œYouâ€™ve lost him, you know,â€ the being said. â€œItâ€™s too late. Heâ€™s gone.â€ 

When Malcolm looked away, Trip continued almost gently. â€œRemoving me now, even if you could, would kill him.â€ 

At that, Malcolm stopped his pacing. He knew Trip well enough to know that heâ€™d never want to live this way. Staring into the beingâ€™s eyes, he said. â€œItâ€™s worth the risk.â€ 

Stepping over the line of powder that outlined the circle, he sat cross-legged, knees almost touching Tripâ€™s. Reaching a hand over, he lit the powder. The circle sent up a bluish puff. He pulled back at the sharp tang, rubbing his nose to relieve it. 

There was a flash and the powder was gone. In its path was a charred circle on the floor. 

Trip caught his eye. â€œArcherâ€™s gonna kill you,â€ he said, a hint of amusement in his eye. 

Malcolm ignored the comment, rubbing his nose again. He pulled his best knife from his boot and began carving small, swirling lines into the ash, following the patterns that Carevial had indicated, paths that would lead the being away. His work done, he replaced the knife.

He murmured another series of words as he reached to the bench for one of the tiny bags. Licking his finger, he thrust it inside, coating his finger in the grey powder. He touched it to his tongue, ingesting the bitterness. Finger in the bag once more, he spread the powder across his lips, then reached over and put the rest on Tripâ€™s. 

Trip spat, but Malcolm knew it didnâ€™t matter. The stuff was already working. Head spinning, he could feel his entire body loosen, his hold on reality slip. Leaning forward, closing the distance between them and nearly tumbling into the other man, he kissed Trip. 

For a brief moment, he let himself fall into the sensations: lips and tongue, and heat. The drug and the feeling of the other man almost allowed him to forget. Almost. 

Their bodies came closer and they were chest to chest. His arms went around Trip without conscious thought and he pulled Trip to him, holding on as hard as he could. Head swirling, senses on fire, he let himself remember other times, better times when he and Trip had been lovers, when theyâ€™d been together, when heâ€™d thought thatâ€¦

When theyâ€™d been family. 

With that thought, he realised what the Bechovian, Carevial, had actually been trying to tell him. It was so clear. Why had he not seen it before? Of course it needed to be him. Only he could make this decision.

The room spun past him. 

There was no other way. 

He slid one hand into his boot. Lifting it, he triggered the knife and thrust it deep into Tripâ€™s side. 

He felt Tripâ€™s body jerk. Malcolm held tight. Still close, he moved the knife. 

Trip let out a sigh, a puff of breath against his lips, and looked at him in surprise. â€œDidnâ€™t think you had it in you,â€ he said. 

The rest flashed by in a blur. Malcolm holding Trip in his shaking arms. Tripâ€™s blood on his hands. His hand still clamped on the knife. Trip staring up at him. 

He saw the light leave Tripâ€™s eyes, felt the life leave his body. Now, he thought. 

He was just about to call for Phlox when a force slammed into him, making him cry out wordlessly. He realised what was happening in an instant â€“ the thing, leaving Trip, had entered him. 

He hadnâ€™t expectedâ€¦he should haveâ€¦ 

In the last seconds he had left of himself, he pushed the knife, still wet with Tripâ€™s blood, into his own stomach. And across. And down. Inartful, but effective, he thought vaguely. 

It was a moment before the pain hit, then it blazed through him, deep and choking, and he knew, he knew heâ€™d gone too far, but heâ€™d had to. There was no other option. Even if they couldnâ€™t save themselves, perhaps they could save the ship. 

He felt the knife slip from his fingers, his hand go up to cover the wound. He watched Trip slide away from him and fall to the floor. He knew he couldnâ€™t shout for Phlox, not now. The being would probably jump to the doctor.

He must give it no place to run. 

He could feel the being struggling within him, wanting to escape. He felt its sorrow as it realised it had used most of its energy for these transfers; that it would probably cease to be if it left him. He heard the beingâ€™s mournful cry as he felt himself fading. Curling in, he let himself fall, landing softly beside Trip. 

x-x

There was a world of pain and light around him. Voices. Tripâ€™s voice. But that couldnâ€™t be Trip, because heâ€™d killed him. Confused, Malcolm opened his eyes, squinting against the almost overwhelming brightness. 

Trip was on the floor nearby, a sea of medics swirling around him, the detritus of their work spilling across the space between them. Caps from hyposprays. Torn wraps from bandages. Discarded packaging from IV kits. His eyes traced a trail of dark liquid to a nearby smear. Blood. The medics seemed to unconsciously avoid it as they scrambled between them. 

He heard Tripâ€™s voice again. Tripâ€™s eyes were on his, blazing, desperate. Malcolm shook his head, or tried to. Unable to move, he stopped trying. It wasnâ€™t important, anyway. None of this was real. Couldnâ€™t be. The man was dead. He remembered the feel of blood flowing over his hand as the knife moved. Heart beating wildly, he tried to catch his breath. 

He had to cough. He knew it was a very bad idea, but he couldnâ€™t stop himself. Coughing, taking in a whooping breath, he tasted iron on his tongue, felt something wet on his lips. He saw the alarm on Tripâ€™s face. 

Phlox was there. Phlox? Was Phlox dead, too? The doctor was speaking to him. He let his eyes drift away, looking over Phloxâ€™s shoulder, trying not to lose himself in the pain and confusion. 

The being. Where was it? He felt inside himself, trying to see if it was still there. Nothing. No one. Hell, not even him. Empty. 

Heâ€™d killed Trip. Maybe himself. There was nothing left. 

Arm jostled, he felt pressure as a drug was given. He spun away. 

x-x

When Malcolm next woke, he knew heâ€™d been hurt â€“ he could feel the pain, but it felt distant, somewhat removed, and he realised heâ€™d been drugged. 

He started an inventory of self as awareness crept in. All the bits were still there. There was pain in his stomach and his side, but it was remote. His throat hurt. Monitors, IV, nasal cannula, catheter. His hand itched where theyâ€™d taped the IV. There was a sheet draped over his body. 

Holding himself still, he listened to the activity around him. Soft voices spoke nearby. Animal sounds, tiny rustles and calls. He could smell the sharp tang of antiseptic covering the odour of illness and worse. Sickbay. 

Opening his eyes, he let his head roll towards the voices. He saw Trip lying on the closest biobed, and Phloxâ€™s back. 

Without enough energy for anything else, he simply watched his friend. Thoughts moving sluggishly, he could feel the drugs tugging him back down. 

After a moment, Trip must have felt eyes on him because met his gaze. Tripâ€™s eyes widened in surprise. 

He must have drifted off, because when next he knew it, he was listening to Phloxâ€™s voice. â€œLieutenant, can you open your eyes, please?â€ 

With effort, he got them open and saw Phloxâ€™s serious face hovering over him. 

â€œHow do you feel?â€

â€œFineâ€ he tried to say. He wanted to focus on Phlox, but his eyelids drooped despite his best efforts. 

â€œDo you know where you are?â€

â€œMmm,â€ he heard himself say as he tried to follow the question. By the time he did, his eyes had closed and it was too late to answer. 

x-x

When Malcolm next woke, his head was clearer and so was the pain. Shifting on the bed, he gasped a short breath at the shock of it. Then he tried not to move. 

He felt a hand on his arm. Opening his eyes, he saw Trip in a chair beside his bed. Trip had obviously noticed he was hurting, because the first thing he said was â€œJust press the button under your hand if you need more meds, Malcolm.â€

Not even taking time to acknowledge the comment, Malcolm ran a finger along the device under his hand. He hadnâ€™t even realised it was there until Trip had mentioned it. Pressing down, he felt the pain begin to dull almost immediately. Vaguely aware of Trip saying something to him, he caught a few words as he began to drift off. The last thing he heard as he slid into sleep was â€œSorry,â€ although he wasnâ€™t sure what Trip had to be sorry for. After all, it was Malcolm whoâ€™d killed him. 

x-x

Trip was there again. Trip was always there. Every time heâ€™d woken â€“ well, a more accurate telling would be â€œhalf-wokenâ€ â€“ Trip had been there at his bedside. Right now he sat just beside the bed, an arm draped across his midsection, his entire focus on the padd resting on his lap. 

Trip was obviously recovering from his injuries. Malcolmâ€™s covert ops training, in this instance, had been a blessing. It had given him knowledge of how best to cut to do damage, but still allow the victim to recover. His own injuries appeared to have been much more severe. 

At the time, heâ€™d given no thought to what he was doing. Heâ€™d simply acted on instinct, without thought. Heâ€™d stabbed Trip, hoping to stop his heart long enough for the being to leave him, but not so long Phlox couldnâ€™t bring him back. But when the being had leapt into him, heâ€™d simply reacted. 

He remembered the clarity heâ€™d felt, the realisation that had come over him in the cell. Now he wasnâ€™t quite as certain of his actions. He wasnâ€™t sure if it had all been a figment of his fevered, drugged imagination, or if heâ€™d actually understood what Carevial had been trying to say. 

Lying still, he let his eyes search Trip. He seemed all right, if hobbled. Pale, obviously ill, he was hunched over a bit, but at least he was sitting in a chair beside him. At least he was *there*. When Malcolm thought of what heâ€™d almost done to him â€“ what he *had* done to himâ€¦

Malcolmâ€™s thoughts were interrupted when Trip looked up and smiled. 

â€œHey,â€ Trip said. â€œYou with me?â€ 

Hello, yourself, Malcolm tried to say in reply, but he choked. A medic was at his side in an instant, checking this and that and giving him ice chips, which were a glory. Heâ€™d always loved the ice chips. 

The medic turned to Trip. â€œJust one minute more,â€ he said as he moved away. 

Trip nodded and placed a hand, palm down, on Malcolmâ€™s chest. His expression was apologetic. â€œYou okay?â€

This Malcolm had to think about. Was he okay? He seemed to be recovering, physically, but insideâ€¦ God, he could still remember the feel of the knife as it slipped into Tripâ€™s side, the sensation as heâ€¦ as heâ€¦

When he didnâ€™t answer right away, Trip grimaced, concern apparent on his face. 

Malcolm winced and turned to face the ceiling. It hurt too much to know that he was the one whoâ€™d done this to Trip, even if it actually had been necessary, even if there was no other way to free him. His mum had always said that the person who loves you the most was one most likely to hurt you, and heâ€™d certainly done that to Trip.

â€œPerson who loves you the most?â€ Trip asked, and Malcolm turned to him in shock, unaware heâ€™d spoken aloud. 

â€œThis hurts too much,â€ Malcolm said, trying to explain. 

Trip started to look really worried. â€œYou can self medicate â€“

â€œNo, thatâ€™s not what I meant.â€ Malcolm lifted a shaking hand and placed it on top of Tripâ€™s where it rested on his chest. Squeezing, he pressed their hands into his chest, over his heart. He didnâ€™t want to lose this. Trip was there, when heâ€™d thought heâ€™d lost him. He was always there. 

Malcolm had been so desperate. Heâ€™d been willing to risk anything, everything, on the chance that heâ€™d be able to keep this. 

â€œWhat I did to you,â€ he said, frantically trying to turn his jumbled feelings to words. â€œWhat we went through.â€

â€œNo, Malcolm â€“

â€œBefore all this, before I realised the being hadâ€¦Iâ€™d thought that youâ€¦â€

Trip raised an eyebrow.

Malcolm dropped his voice. â€œI would to anything for you, Trip. Anything at all.â€ Even die for you â€“ that bit he left unsaid. 

Trip nodded, eyes moist. â€œButâ€¦â€ he said, leading with his tone, seemingly braced for impact. 

Malcolm hesitated, then said it. â€œCarevial â€“ the person from Bechovia â€“ told me the ritual would only work if the one person who loved you the most performed it.â€ Malcolm tried to resist the urge to laugh, knowing that his emotions were just a bit too close to the surface to allow him to control himself if he let go, and he really needed to focus, to say this. He briefly wondered how much the drugs being pumped into his system were affecting him, but he pushed that thought aside. What he had to say was right. Even if he was only able to say this because of the drugs, he wouldnâ€™t have any regrets. This was true. It was *right*. And it was about bloody time. 

â€œI thought, even though youâ€™d pretty much broken it off â€“

Trip tried to interrupt, â€œThat wasnâ€™t me. I didnâ€™t â€“

Malcolm ran right over him. â€œâ€¦that person was probably me. I need you here with me, Trip.â€ He squeezed Tripâ€™s hand. â€œI want this. Forever. I want this.â€

â€œOh,â€ Trip finally said, looking shell-shocked. 

Malcolm tried to smother his smile. â€œIâ€¦I basically propose to you, and all you have to say is â€˜Ohâ€™?â€

Trip frowned. â€œI thought you were going to break up with me.â€

â€œNo, Trip,â€ Malcolm said, breaking out in a full-on grin. â€œQuite the opposite.â€

Now it was Tripâ€™s turn to smile. 

x-x


End file.
